


Alone and Defeated

by risingtides



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minor Injuries, Past Relationship(s), Philadelphia Flyers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risingtides/pseuds/risingtides
Summary: “It’s not like it matters, it doesn’t change anything.” He adds quietly and really that statement could apply to a number of matters rumbling through his brain.





	Alone and Defeated

**Author's Note:**

> We need to do more justice to the Claude/Nolan tag, so this is my contribution to growing it. I would also like to add I have no clue what Nolan's injury is/was, I'm merely making it up so don't take my word for it!  
> Find me on tumblr @hartsytrash

Nolan didn’t let his emotions show too often. Hockey wasn’t really the sport for that.

You had to have a brave face all the time, tell reporters what they wanted, take accountability for shit that wasn’t even your fault, assure your teammates you were alright, and then had to go off and deal with it yourself.

He wasn’t so sure this was something he could handle on his own.

He _knows_ he hasn’t been producing like everyone had hoped, _knows_ he’s dropped down to the third line because he can’t play for shit, and he _knows_ all of this is compounded by the fact that he would be ending the first half of this season on the fucking injured reserve.

Fuck, he was second overall, and he’s been nothing but a complete dud in comparison to Hischier. Not that the Devils were much better, but, he was at least contributing, scoring and what not, more than Nolan could say.

Now he would be sidelined by another injury – not a concussion this time, thankfully – but his shoulder fucking _hurt_ and now he couldn’t help but feel like even more of a waste of space, doing nothing but dragging his already struggling team down to the bottom of the division, to the bottom of the league.

He was one of the first to their hotel rooms when they got back after their sloppy loss to the Panthers, guilt eating him alive. Before Travis could even get in the room or say hello to his roommate, Nolan was in the shower, not in the mood to talk to anyone. He cranked the hot water, letting it scorch his delicate skin, turning him a bright pink. It was difficult to wash his hair, raising his arm sending shooting pains to his bicep tendon, causing him to seethe as he forced it up to get the job done. He felt tears prick at his eyes, pain and frustration bogging him down.

When he finally emerges in only his towel, Teeks is nowhere to be found. He was thankful that his teammate had a good sense of when to leave Nolan alone without him having to ask for it. He was probably blowing off steam with some of the other guys elsewhere, in another room or at a local bar or something. Nolan lacked the energy for that and let himself collapse onto his bed after getting dressed, cradling his arm close. Less movement kept the pain at bay.

He crawled under the covers and turned the TV on to a random local channel, wanting the noise to help keep his mind from wandering.

A knock came at the door and before he could turn the person away, Claude was already entering. Screw TK for keeping the door cracked with the lock.

“Hey,” the captain starts softly, smiling gently at the young forward. Nolan looked away from the TV for a split second before looking back, trying to remain collected while his mind was starting to go haywire, the volume turning itself up louder with him in the room. Claude must have moved the lock out of the way, because he hears the door slam shut behind him.

“’Sup,” he answers coolly, finding sudden interest in the television program.

Claude wasn’t that easy to fool. “How are you feeling?” he asks, hovering over his bed, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.

Nolan looked away again to look at Claude, refusing to make eye contact, nodding his head towards the corner of his bed for him to sit down. Literally any one else could have entered, but of course it was his Captain. “Fine.” He mumbles, turning back to the TV.

Giroux frowns, raising an eyebrow at the way Nolan was clutching his arm, “You don’t seem it, Nol.”

The pet name warms him up ever so slightly, silence settling over them as Giroux waits for an answer. “It’s not like it matters, it doesn’t change anything.” He adds quietly and _really_ that statement could apply to a number of matters rumbling through his brain and he can feel tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes. _Not fucking now, not in front of your captain, in front of him, you idiot._

Claude winces before he scoots himself closer to Nolan on the bed, close enough to rest a hand on his knee. “You can talk about it, you know, whatever it is.” He assures him, squeezing the joint gently.

Nolan sits there for a moment, willing Giroux would just get up and go to his own room, leaving Nolan to his devices yet he also wants to so badly lean into his touch and be comforted, just like before, but this isn’t before. He wants to laugh right in his face. _Whatever it is? That’s fucking rich._ When he doesn’t move, and Nolan is still trying to avoid his gaze, he can feel more tears coming, particularly when a random pain shoots through his arm and he bites his bottom lip.

“I’m just… so fucking frustrated, G.” he whimpers eventually, taking a deep breath in to hopefully suck some of the tears away, but instead a sob escapes. He lifts his good arm to cover his face, embarrassed. “I’ve been playing like shit, I’ve heard enough of it from everyone as if I don’t know it, and now I’m fucking _hurt_ going into the break and I-I…”

He trails off as Giroux moves to hug him close, being gentle with his shoulder as he does so, Nolan sobbing into his shoulder. He’s been holding it all in for so long that out come wretched sobs, tears staining the soft long sleeve Giroux is wearing as he holds him, rubbing circles into his back.

Nolan feels soft kisses being pressed against his shoulder as his cries start to quiet and he’s startled initially. He can’t remember the last time Giroux had been this way with him, it feels so long ago. Claude never quite looked at Nolan the same, this weird distance between them after things… happened.

“It’s okay,” he whispers in between kisses, moving to press one soft kiss against his neck, not suggestively, but just to get him to focus on something else. Nolan leans into the touch, turning his face in towards Giroux’s neck, eyes still closed. The captain presses a kiss to his forehead and Nolan closes his eyes again, sighing.

The young one lifts his head after a few minutes, wiping at his eyes, still unable to meet Giroux’s gaze as he becomes aware of how they’re sitting, Nolan practically in Claude’s lap, just too close to be considered mere comradery, “I’m sorry, that was… I’m embarrassed, shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put you in this situation, it’s not your burden to carry, I-“

“Hey, now, stop it,” Claude coos softly, sweeping his thumb under his eyes to wipe the tears away. He feels his heart twang, seeing Nolan like this, his boy who wasn’t his boy anymore, that he can’t just console the way he used to. He keeps his hand on Nolan’s cheek, warmth radiating from under his touch.

Nolan sniffles, shaking his head gently, eyes shut again. He places a hand on Claude’s wrist, holding him there when he should be pushing him away, relishing in his touch. Tears still trickle from his eyes, arm still tucked close to his torso. “It’s just so much, you know?” he finally opens his eyes, meeting Claude’s eyes for the first time since he’s been sitting here. “And this,” he gestures weakly to his other arm with a bitter laugh, limp against him, “Is just, just the icing on the cake,” he pauses, “And I feel like I have no one to turn to anymore.” He finishes quietly and despite his size he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so small in his entire life.

Claude feels a stab in his chest hearing Nolan’s quiet confession. He’s to blame for this, there’s no denying that.

“I’m sorry, Nol,” is all he can muster because, where does he begin?

Nolan can feel all the memories he’s suppressed rushing back, little things he’s been throwing into the garbage at the back of his brain so that it didn’t interfere with the whole hockey thing. Sitting together just like this, sharing rooms on road trips, holding hands on planes when everyone was asleep, and no one would see, stolen kisses in the dark, whispers in the ear on the ice after a goal.

And then Claude is leaning down to kiss him, sweet and gentle against his lips. It’s only a second before Nolan is falling right back into it, like things had never gone down the way they did, like it had only been a few minutes since he had last kissed him and not months ago.

Nolan is the first to pull back, confused yet filled with happy warmth. He shouldn’t feel comfortable right now, not with Claude, but he can’t stop himself from falling.

 “I know I didn’t exactly help things.” Giroux admits, staring at a random spot on the white duvet, “I know I’m responsible.”

Nolan knows what he’s referring to. Their relationship, how it didn’t work, how Claude had cut it off abruptly when things were – or at least seemed like it to Nolan - going so well. He nods, hearing him, but not sure if he was understanding.

“It’s been so fucking _hard_ , Claude,” he seethes through grit teeth, shaking his head, “I can’t fucking focus, you just fucking _left me_ ,” and he knows he’s spilling his thoughts out into the open and it’s too sensitive, too much for Claude to be hearing, but the pain is too much, “And now I just have to see you every single day, play with you, be around you endlessly and it drives me insane. I wanted to leave so badly.”

Claude stares, eyes searching Nolan’s, unable to come up with anything that would make what he did seem right because he knows he was in the wrong.

“I never got closure, I guess.” Nolan finishes quietly, staring down at his lap again.

The feeling of being responsible for Nolan’s lackluster play makes Claude feel guiltier than anything. Making Nolan want to leave Philadelphia? Claude could hardly breathe.

“I am,” he pauses to take a breath in, sucking back his own share of tears, “So fucking sorry, Nolan. All of this is my fault. I wish I could take it all away,” and there’s a _but_ located somewhere at the end of that sentence, but they both know what it is.

He’s not the same naïve player he was before, he knows better. That Nolan would never come before Ryanne, that him and Claude would never have the happy ever after he used to fantasize about.

“You could have just told me what you wanted, you know. Instead of making me believe that we would somehow make it through this together. So I wouldn’t have,” he readjusts his arm as the pain starts radiating again, grimacing, “Made these ideas in my head. About us.”

Giroux feels the guilt seeping into his bones. He was stupid to believe he could have the best of both worlds. “I know, and I know apologizing won’t just fix anything, but I’ll always be here for you to talk to, or for whatever else you need,” and there’s a suggestive tone to his words, “I want you to know that.”

He sounds sincere and Nolan shouldn’t be falling for it again, but he would rather have part of Claude than none of him at all, so he’s nodding, now wearing a soft smile as he looks back at his Captain.

“I’ve missed you.” He murmurs quietly as he presses chaste kiss to his mouth, pulling back to look at him again, still hesitant. He can’t let himself be vulnerable like he did before, “Please, just, be honest next time,” he pleads, eyes wide and searching in Claude’s, needing the affirmation.

“I will, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again, pressing another kiss to Nolan’s lips, Claude still smiling as he runs a hand through Nolan’s long hair, admiration glowing through him as he analyzed every feature of his face, having missed the proximity of it, everything that he had given up. “Missed you too, love, more than you know.”

Not all the pain would miraculously disappear. This was just another injury he would have to work through; it wouldn’t be the first time.

Having Claude again will start to mend the pain he felt inside, at least.

-

Travis doesn’t come back from the bar until early the next morning, and when he does, he finds Claude wrapped up in bed with Nolan, cradled gently in his arms, both of them still clothed (thankfully for Travis). A bottle of Advil and water is on the bedside table and the TV is still on. He smiles to himself, being careful to not make too much noise as he climbs into the adjacent bed to catch a few hours of sleep before their flight.


End file.
